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Mania
Synopsis After the tragic death of her beloved mentor, Dewrose drifts through life in a dream-like trance. Her world is blurred and drowsy, until she meets a charming rogue who drags her into a life of risky surrealism that takes a dangerous turn for the worse. Prologue Like a blip within my memory. A space between the folds of time. Once, and never again. I fell asleep soundly the night Rainstripe died. Pink mouth gaping wide in a yawn, I curled into myself like a sun-soaked kitten. I had a strange dream in which Applestar (WindClan's leader, my almost mother) was eating a rose, thorns and all, petals first. Blood dribbled down the side of her mouth like snow. It was not as pretty as one would have imagined, the red smeared against her ivory fur on the empty moor of our homeland. She looked like a swan, her neck arched, tired and silent. I fell asleep soundly the night Rainstripe died and I'm not quite certain that I have woken up since. Intricate melodies play in my cerebrum when I organize herbs and I sometimes cry for no reason at all. At a Gathering, moonlight turns my fur silver, and the tears stream down my face without my consent. I walk through solid objects. Honeycombs appear behind my ears. I hold my breath and never realize it until my lips turn black and blue, a bruise of my own construction. Of the many cats featured in my dreams (?), Rainstripe has only appeared a single time. I was underwater with a bad aftertaste on my tongue, laced saliva. He floated adjacent to me, honeysuckle fur drifting upwards. That stupid, lovely optimist. Like a plant, always searching for the light. He looked happy as always, with a blush of a smile and warm eyes, everyone loved him. Even the animals. Bees wreathed his head, back when he was alive, crowning him their king. What a cliche. Idiot. Always doing the right thing, being the hero, running into the fire and not coming out, even in death he was positive. Soft and angelic like a kit leaving the nursery, hopeful and shiny and new. He winked at me and my lungs collapsed like a maudlin damsel, oh! how awful!, ''I loved him so much and now he's dead. And just like that, it was over. Quick, with a dash of something holy, as many aspects of my life were. Once, and never again. Chapter 1 The meeting was by chance, but it tasted so spiced with irony that I couldn't help but to suspect the workings of fate. Walking along the border of WindClan territory and rogue lands, my paws were blistered and numb. The land sloped and rose in jagged welts of stone, blanketed in moss and fog like a Celtic graveyard. I was slightly frowning (lips barely curved; my resting face) and I was searching for marigold. I had been out for hours. Surely I passed it and didn't see? My mind was drowsy with grief. Time faded to a blur, a taunting smear of gibberish I struggled to decipher. I stumbled through life with my eyes glazed over, colours were muted and food was tasteless. Perpetual congestion. The first thing to pierce me was the smell. A distinct odor of catmint that rushed pleasure through my senses and sent me dashing forward. What had awoken within me I still don't know, but it was divine and the most alive I had felt in months. I crossed the faint border into rogue territory; I flew, inexplicably happy. The moors obeyed me. I was wild and liberated, following the scent trail— —to a cat that made me stop dead in my tracks. This cat, with catmint curled around her ankles, was swindled in scars. Thousands of them. Tiny red welts that spared none of her, from her bony tail to her gaunt face. Pinching and stark, they must have been from some sort of pox infection as a kit. She was remarkably thin in a frail manner, with sickle-like ribs peeking out from beneath her silver pelt. When she turned to look at me, I noticed her eyes were a heartbreaking blue. My face must have given away my fascination and terror. She giggled; her voice was eerily bird-like. "Scared?" she asked. I shook my head. She shrugged, "Worried, then." She unsheathed her claws, which were thorny and manicured like a kitten's, and sliced off a stem of catmint, gently clasping it between her teeth. She padded over to me and the earth shook. After months of dormancy, my senses were awake and hyper-alert, amplifying every tiny motion into divine prophecy. She was a hair away from me. She slipped the stem into my gaping mouth, my tongue brushed against her teeth. Her breath was minty and had the drowsy relief of poppy seeds. She pulled away. "Eat it. You'll feel much better." The catmint was sweet, I could taste the sunlight on it. It dissolved between my jaws. My eyelids fluttered. I became acutely aware of the newleaf pollen on my face, and a sneeze escaped me. The she-cat beamed. The scars on her face looked like rosebuds. "See! All well!" My muscles relaxed, bit by bit. I smiled like a lovesick fool while the world warped into something sensual and synesthetic. "T-Thanks," I stuttered. "I'm Dewrose." Her eyes grew wide. She looked delightfully infatuated. "Oh! One of those funny Clan cats on the other side of the moor! Flarestreak came from there!" She rocked back and forth on her paws. "Hang on, for a little while. I know two people who would like you." She turned to leave. "Wait!" I shouted. "What's your name?" She shrugged. "I guess you'll have to find out!" And then she left me, dumbstruck on a misty moor, dew collecting in my claws. I do not know how long I was there. A rabbit ran across my path, a hawk came down and killed it. Nothing eventful. The breeze stirred. It felt like centuries before the she-cat returned with two companions, the three of them equally strange and charming. "A clan cat? Pfft. I bet she's real pretentious. I left that place for a reason, y'know." This comment came from a cat so burnt I couldn't differentiate a gender. Burn scars laced their body, pink and sandy like a decaying desert. Their right eye was swollen shut. They tapped their left forepaw incessantly, exuding an air of adrenaline. I could get high off that sort of energy. The frenzy. I was hit with a twinge of familiarity that I couldn't quite place. I had seen this cat before, in some different, happier time. "You're Flarestreak," I blurted. "The one from the Clans." Flarestreak mockingly puffed out their chest. "So Poppy told you about me? I'm the one and only." "You look awfully familiar." Flarestreak guffawed, "Heck, I was about to say the same thing." "Small world," said the pretty she-cat from before: Poppy. Flarestreak narrowed their eyes. "Huh," —then— "did Poppy drug you?" A fresher, more masculine voice filled the air, with a deep, devastating timbre that hit me in the bones. "Flarestreak, you make us look like a band of petty thugs." The third companion was standing near Poppy with such assertion; they looked like mates. He was the most handsome of the three, with warm tawny fur and eyes the colour of olives. He smiled with a lazy, drunken charm that sent a flush of heat through me. His gaze made me feel vulnerable; he was dissecting my pupils. He chuckled. "Poppy, honestly." "It was only a stem!" Poppy protested. "She looked like she needed it!" The tom turned back to me. "It'll wear off eventually. But I say enjoy the ride while it lasts. I'm Chestnut, by the way." "I'm impressed," said Flarestreak, gesturing the the catmint below us. "You found our stash." "The scent is quite strong off the WindClan border. My mentor used to come here for the herbs." "And you're mentor was...?" "Rainstripe." I was so dazed, his name held no significance. Just small talk, just a word. Like any other words. No pang of grief or crack of the heart. I felt light. Flarestreak stumbled backwards, beaming with recognition. "Rainstripe! That guy saved my life, although I can't exactly say I'm grateful. You fed me poppy seeds. We were both tiny, this was way before we left the Clans. I thought I was dead. My dad couldn't even look at me. Clan cats are hypocrites, but Rainstripe was something special. Real nice." "Why did you leave?" Flarestreak shrugged. "Reasons." I could see Chestnut subtly shaking his head. ''Don't push it. "You're adorable," Poppy remarked, talking about me but not too me. Her eyes were flirted and unfocused, dilated. I doubt I was the only one with herbs in my system, although she seemed a bit too sleepy to be on catmint. "I like you." "I'm a medicine cat," I leaned down to bite off a few stems of catmint. "Would you mind if I took some?" Chestnut nudged me back up. His fur was warm and spiky. It tickled the underside of my chin. "We have an entire garden of herbs," he explained. His voice was low and gentle. "For...medicinal purposes, you could say. You can borrow from there." Flarestreak snorted. "Borrow isn't the best term." "We require favors!" Poppy chimed in. "In exchange!" "What kind of favors?" I asked, skeptical. "You're a medicine cat, you said it yourself," said Chestnut. "We need to you to heal someone. Tomorrow at dawn, in exchange for whatever herbs you want." "Fair enough," I replied. "I need marigold." "Arrive at this spot at sunrise," said Chestnut. "I'll see to it. Thank you." They left me and I stood frozen in place for the longest of times. Patterns or blue and white exploded on the sky. Fuzzy little bumblebees tickled my stomach as I walked home. Right outside of camp, I threw up. Chapter 2 The following morning I was where I was meant to be: lying on my back in the catmint patch, lukewarm saliva accumulating on my tongue. Flakes of yellow dawn slipped into the sky, wet and sticky like lemon drops. A thin layer of gauze coated the atmosphere and the clouds were spun sugar puffs. I was hoping either Chestnut or Poppy would come get me. I had nothing against Flarestreak, but I was tired and in love, and being around Flarestreak would jolt me back to reality. Poppy and Chestnut—they were gorgeous. Stunning. Like a pair of StarClan prophets, ethereal and lovely. I both wanted them and wanted to be them, warm and effortless. They must be a couple, they belonged in a fairytale: broad-shouldered tom and a daintily strange she-cat. I tried to imagine them together, in love, but I couldn't. Some greedy, lustful part of me wanted them for myself Applestar had yet to take notice of my absences. She was constantly worried about my health ever since Rainstripe died. You two were so close. As if she knew. No one knew anything about Rainstripe. They couldn't see past his darling smile. No one, with the exception of me. I closed my eyes, banishing his image from my mind. Nothing but the black and the sweet scent of the catmint around me. "Tired much?" My eyes fluttered open to meet a pair of flecked green ones. Chestnut. I smiled and pawed at his nose like a newborn kit. He leaned in until we were almost touching, and then sprung upright. Teasing me. Like carefree apprentices playing games. I bit my lip, hauling myself out of the herb patch and onto my paws. "I'm alright. Not late, unlike you." He rolled his eyes jokingly. "Cheeky." He led me across open, windy fields. Our pelts brushed. Was this seduction on his part or awkwardness on mine? I ignored the thought. Best not to have high expectations for something improbable. The vastness of the land dazzled me. I had never been so far outside Clan borders before. It scared me, almost. The way it never seemed to end. I had spent my entire life encased within borders, and now I was facing the world beyond them, tangled in grasses that were scented with liberation. Appearing on the horizon was a Twolegplace, decades abandoned. Grapevines poked through the leafy, crumbling stone walls; nature took back what belonged to it. The roof had already collapsed in, leaving a gaping, haunted hole. The Twolegplace seemed like the type of environment where your grandmother would have explored when she was young and adventurous. Empty but vivacious; the den where ghosts came to dance and fall in love. Chestnut and I entered through a curtain of moss that swept down through an eroded archway, reminiscent of a melon green waterfall. Inside, the Twolegplace was a drafty antique of a home, warm and breezey. Sunlight filtered through the open top, like an ancient, historical ruin from a renaissance of philosophy. A golden age of copper leaflets in the moonlight and Romanesque order. Water dripped into a pool. Flarestreak was there, pacing, tail pulsing anxiously. Poppy was strewn across the beams in the ceiling, body like a ribbon, bending in eerie, fluid shapes. The pockmarks on pale stomach seemed to shift before my eyes like holes on the moon. She smiled at me; blew a kiss. In leftmost corner of the den, near the water, on a bed of rock and ferns, was a tom with matted black fur. Chestnut led me over to him. On the outside, he looked completely healthy— —if you were to ignore the clots of blood around his missing eye. "Poor chap," said Chestnut. "He can't even speak." "Poor chap," Flarestreak mocked. "Just hurry up and fix him! I hate seeing him like this. Chestnut, I would have willingly jumped off this barn and broken my arm for her to heal instead of finding this guy half-dead on the Thunderpath. I've done it before." "Flarestreak isn't kidding," said Poppy. "Also, it's called a road." Flarestreak slammed their head into some sort of imaginary wall. "Ugh, sorry. Those stupid Clan terms coming back to me." I ignored the comment. "I need celandine, marigold, and three poppy seeds." Poppy lit up. "Poppy seeds!" She slimmed out of the beams like water, landing like a raindrop on the ground. "I can get those for you." A few minutes later, she returned with the herbs I asked for. She dropped them by my paws and whispered into my ear, drunken and breathy: "I have a whole field of these poppies. You can have as many as you want." I stepped back, shivering. She shrugged and went back to her hiding spot in the ceiling. "Maybe later." I dribbled the poppy seeds into my patient's mouth. When healing another cat, a sense of intimacy washes over me. I see them at their most vulnerable and bring them out of it. And, while leaning over my patient like a vulture, I noticed how terrified his eyes looked. As if he feared me. Shock, maybe. Once he was properly sedated, I ground the celandine into a poultice and carefully dripped it into his eye. If he had been awake, he would be screaming. Celandine was one of the most vicious, bitter, stinging herb there was. Ruthless, it healed without any regard for pain. But, it was effective. I crushed marigold in the water pool, and applied it over the injured eye. "That's all," I said. This felt too easy. "I need my marigold now." Flarestreak pushed a package of the product to me, wrapped in thick, waxy leaves. "Thanks." Flarestreak half shrugged, half nodded. "Can I talk to you outside for a second?" I nodded and padded behind Flarestreak to a miniature garden of sorts, dotted with various aromatic herbs. "Is Poppy freaking you out?" "A little," I admitted. "She acts so strange." "She's completely drugged," Flarestreak said suddenly. "Addicted to poppy seeds. I've known her for a very long time, she's had a rough life." "Oh," I was so awkward in these sorts of situations, never knowing how to give condolences without sounding superficial. "I'm sorry. What happened to her?" "It's not my job to tell you. If she wants to, she will." We both nodded, coming to similar conclusions. I began to walk back inside. "One more thing," said Flarestreak, catching up and lowering their voice to a whisper. "I see how you're acting around Chestnut." "Ah! Well you see it's not really a big deal, I'm terribly romantic which is very against the medicine cat code and I doubt it will be anything serious so—" "That's not the point," Flarestreak hissed. "I wouldn't trust him if I were you. Sure, he seems like the normal one, but there is something very, very wrong with him. You can hang with us, that's fine, but don't get too close to him. For your sake." I studied Flarestreak for what seemed like hours. The wild, scarred eyes. The burnt flesh. The conviction. Then, I stepped back into the barn. -*- The next few hours were so joyful I can't bear to describe them entirely. Poppy did loops on the ceiling, acrobatically twisting her body into convoluted but pleasing knots. It started to drizzle and Flarestreak ran outside, "It's raining! It's raining!". Flarestreak played a dangerous little game that involved sitting on the Thunderpath and dodging monsters. For the duration of the stunt, Chestnut was rolling his eyes, muttering "Junkie," under his breath. I analyzed Chestnut's behavior, considering Flarestreak's warning, trying to peel back the layers, fearing the ugly things I might find. But I noticed nothing other than what I always saw him to be: a tom. A windswept, wild tom with genteel mannerisms and charismatic conversations. I loved him so dearly, in the way a shallow adolescent might. It was stupid of me but I couldn't help it, who can? It was fun when he killed the bee that Flarestreak was screaming over, or how he managed to rouse Poppy out of her drunken stupors. How he half-flirted in an aloof, light way. How he promised to meet me outside camp tomorrow morning as Flarestreak glared at me from over his shoulder. Regardless, I said yes, yes, yes. And when it came time to leave, I was joyful and chartreuse, marigold clamped between my jaws as I said farewell. I walked back to camp alone and as the sun set, I realized I had been away from camp for almost the entire day. As soon as I walked into camp, I regretted it. Applestar was fuming, snapping at her senior warriors, sending out patrols and searching for news. Her eyes landed on me in a relieved yet equally hateful way that terrified me." "Where have you been?" Chapter 3 I dug my claws into the dry, itching dirt, jaw paralyzed with fear. It confused me, the wrathful look in eyes that always looked so kind. Set deep within her face and uplifted by sharp cheekbones, she was a tactician before anything. Applestar was feared for a reason. "Well?" she snarled. "Are you just going to stand there? Where have you been all day?" "Out," I mumbled, staring at the ground. "I brought some marigold. You know I didn't really leave camp at all as an apprentice so I thought it would be fun to—" Sharply, she inhaled. "Is that tom-scent?" "Really it's not what you think—" A bubble of alert ears and curious eyes had formed around the two of us. This Just In: Innocent Adolescent is Mercilessly Torn Apart By Authorities. Did these cats not have better things to with with their time? "You know what?" Applestar snapped. "I don't want to hear it. You're confined to camp for three days?" "But tomorrow morning—" "Oh! So you're meeting someone tomorrow morning?" Yes, I thought. "No," I said. The sun was setting on the horizon in a brilliant display of bronze and gold. Somehow, it drew me out of my predicament. My shoulders relaxed. Applestar was ready to burst. Her voice faded to a hysteric whisper. "Just go to your den. And stay there. I'm putting you to work tomorrow." Tomorrow. Chestnut waiting for me while the sun crawled over his head, a dazzling halo of light around his ears. I had to find some way to warn him. -*- The Clan was asleep when I made the decision to sneak out. It's a decision the younger incarnation of me wouldn't have dreamed of. My existence was shaped by rules and the commands of others, a precarious structure I never thought to shift. It killed me, skirting along the edge of camp. To stay or to leave? Freedom pulled at my ankles like a needy child, not really for Chestnut but more for the quiet and melancholy of a silver twilight. It's true that I didn't leave camp during my apprenticeship. I whittled away the stagnant hours by counting the herb stock, over and over until it faded into rhythm. This is a truth I hate to acknowledge: minor confession. Once I did leave, I wandered around the lakeside and twirled along the Thunderpath, stunned with silence and just waiting to get hit. A snake slithered through the water, body slick, black, and oily. Frogs remained poised on the rocks like vultures, unblinking and malevolent, they terrified me. Looked possessed with their tiny eyes. Darkness without shape surrounded me. Atmospheric shadow. Cicada chirps twirled up and down in the blackness like a primordial song, there even before our bodies crawled out of the mud and flinched at the sunlight, eyelashes wet like butterfly wings. I stumbled blindly over the border and into rogue lands, where I swore I saw a hunched, gnarled creature with globular eyes look up at me from the brush. Or then again, maybe I didn't. The vastness of the world had always frightened me. The looming fairytale forests and wave-beaten cliffs, eons of light and love and water and war that I could never fit into a single sentence. I could spend the rest of my life trying to describe the wonders of this earth and not scratch at the surface. How does one even start? With the swirling cosmos or the little things, like kittens pouting or foreign language? I stuck to my microscopic home of moors and rules growing up, and even the tiniest act of twilight rebellion upset my fragile equilibrium. In the middle of a territory so far from camp, in the absolute blackness, I became aware of how lost and lonely I was. Up until a few days ago I hadn't had a single friend and now I was sneaking out for strangers and I was trapped far away from home, completely unsure of where I should go. I wandered around a bit more, searching for the drafty barn I had been inside of a few hours ago, at the side of a cat with inexplicably gouged out eyes. I hadn't asked what had happened to him. A fox, probably, or rabid squirrel, but the lack of a solid conclusion left me uneasy. It was that feeling of listening to a scary story and not being able to sleep. Curled up all alone, one eye open and flinching at every rustle, waiting for the killer to jump on top of you and it's the middle of the night, no one could hear my screams there, and I couldn't see and it was too windy and— —and a figure emerged from the bushes. Chestnut. He towered over me and his green eyes were dull like turtle shells. For a hair-splitting second, I was terrified of him. I wanted to shout. To run. He smiled and instantly, I relaxed. "I wouldn't imagine bumping into you so late." "I was looking for you," I said. "But I g-got lost and I can't believe I broke a rule. I'm so scared and I don't know why." "Come here," he said, after a brief pause. "I'm not a nightmare. I won't hurt you." I curled into him, my right ear against his chest and his chin on my skull. It was oddly unromantic. I could hear his heart throbbing between his ribs. Life circulating in the veins. All that blood. We remained frozen like that for the longest time before I noticed something tickling my forehead. I looked up and saw strange white flowers hanging from Chestnut's mouth, slick like cream and moonlight. "What's that?" I pulled away so he could speak properly. "They have some official name but where I'm from we called them weepers," he said. "Poppy is a bit sick. I went out to get them and that's why I'm out so late." "I've never seen them before." He shrugged. "I don't think they're native to Clan areas. They're incredibly reliable for any sickness. They were the default medicine where I grew up. Cats fell ill all the time." "It wasn't the best place?" I said softly. "No." He began walking away and gestured for me to follow him. "Well I've told you my reason for being out, now I want to hear yours." "Oh!" I said, still moving forward. "I'm confined to camp. We can't meet this morning like we planned." "That's too bad." He seemed bored with me, striding ahead of me rather than at my side. We were silent until the barn came into view. He let me inside first, and then followed. "Hey, you," said Poppy, head peeking out from the hay. Her shoulders jabbed through her skin like severed wings and she shivered like leafbare. She coughed twice, dry and uneven. "What a surprise." I smiled, shrugged. "Sorry you're feeling sick." Chestnut dropped the weepers near her paws. "One flower, twice a day." "What in StarClan's name is that?" Not bothering to correct their Clan terminology was Flarestreak, ragged and half-lit in the static moonlight. Flarestreak glared at Chestnut. They were both very much annoyed. "I thought you were sleeping," Chestnut said, voice dangerously low. "The sound of Poppy being fed random herbs must have jostled me awake." "Oh for the love of—" Chestnut gritted his teeth. He was struggling to keep calm. "You act like I'm going to poison her." "Wouldn't be shocked if you did." Flarestreak turned to me. "Are those safe?" "I've never seen them before." "Please don't fight," Poppy whispered. Her eyes were kittenish and cloudy. We all turned to her. "If it's going to make me better, I'll take them. I trust Chestnut." She plucked one of the drooping flowers by then stem, and delicately placed it between her teeth. She chewed quickly, and swallowed. "Tastes sweet." Flarestreak eyed Chestnut with suspicion. "I'm going back to sleep, then." Flarestreak' body receded into the shadows. Poppy already looked tired, yawning silently. "Night, you two." "Goodnight, dear," Chestnut said. I waved. We stepped outside the den. "I should go home." "I'll walk you," said Chestnut, "So you don't get lost again." "Please do." We padded together through the woods, which seemed less frightening with him near me. Spontaneously, he asked: "Do you get sick much?" It was an odd question. "No," I answered, honest. After a pause, he said, "Good. It's always sickness with the she-cats in my life. My mother died from sickness, even though I tried to help her. I hope the same thing doesn't happen to Poppy." "It won't," I reassured. "She has whitecough at the worst. She'll recover in a few days. After my confinement is up I can come check on her." "And," I added, "I'm sorry about your mother." "It was a long time ago," he said. "Death is a strange thing. You can cause it, but never reverse it. It's everywhere. Every second, something dies. And we'll die too, one day." With that somber statement, we carried on. Chapter 4 "Applestar?" "Hm?" The morning was vivid and unflinchingly optimistic on the second day of my confinement, but I felt sick. Not physically, like feverish Poppy, but ill on a more soulful plane. The three encounters with my fascinating trio—a chance meeting, the cat with no eyes, and sneaking out last night—had awakened something within me. Something ugly and deep. It was like a parasite had been gestating in my stomach since kithood, and now it was slithering through my intestines, gnawing at any tissue it could find. I was inexplicably disturbed, anxious to the point of nausea. Something did not add up. Applestar was smiling at me, waiting. This was her kind face, the one she wore when visiting the nursery or greeting apprentices. A vice-free pseudo-mother, devoid of wanting or sin. At that moment, I saw something I had never seen before: the sheer falseness of it all. The black thing inside me laughed like I was spitting out bile, all harsh and flat. "Why," I began, "didn't I ever leave camp as an apprentice? Not once?" There was a slight falter. A flicker of dread in her sharp green eyes. It was subtle, but there. She recovered quickly. "Because, you didn't want to. You were a very introverted little she-cat. The only cats you really talked to were Rainstripe and I." Rainstripe. That was another thing that felt off. Perfect Rainstripe. Virtuous and darling and dead. My most beloved mentor, rotting in the earth. I had spent nearly my entire life with him, and when I scoured my brain I found only memories of joy. Still, I wanted to vomit. "Are you sure?" I replied. "Not once. Not at all. Not even to try?" "No." Applestar seemed very uncomfortable. She studied me, white fur fluttering in the breeze. "Have you been getting enough sleep, dear?" "It really just seems strange that I enforced confinement on myself?" My tone had an edge. "Dear, you're probably just forgetting. You forget things so easily." Suddenly, I felt drained. I sighed. "Yeah. You're right. Rainstripe used to tease me about my memory." Then, jokingly: "Social interaction is draining." Applestar chuckled, but it was eerily hollow. The two of us in the center of the clearing. Just the two of us in the entire empty world. "Why don't you go lie down in your den? You look tired." "Okay." The violent thing inside me was quiet now. Nonexistent. I padded away from Applestar, but I could feel her eyes on my back the entire time. -*- Long legged figures late in the night. Fuzzy and blurry, a new memory emerging from the womb, slick with saliva and salt. Rainstripe in Applestar's den, staying even after my parents left. They were talking about me. Me, the sad little kitten, staring at the ground in the pouring rain, waiting for them to let me in. They never did. I had the face of making mistakes and not knowing what they were. Forgetting. I am always forgetting. -*- When I woke up, it was midday. Sleep had not made me feel better, but calmer. Stiller. Again, I organized herbs. Melancholy pervaded me. It was in the veins of the raspberry leaves and center of the poppy seeds. Outside, cats flitted throughout camp like ghosts. Applestar was on the Highrock, being beat back by the wind— —Applestar was on the Highrock, being beat back by the wind. The crowd was chanting my new name. Dewpaw! Dewpaw! Dewpaw! Rainstripe touches his nose to mine, eyes glittering. "Excited to be a medicine cat?" I shrugged. "It was surprise. But I'm happy about it." "Good! You'll be amazing." "Have we talked before?" He winked. "I bet we have. I know everybody." "Are you a spy, mister?" "Oh no!" he gasped. "I've been exposed!" I giggled. His eyes glittered. —I shook myself out of the memory. All day, the past had been tugging at my ankles. Memories I had been dissecting, one by one, searching for the key. The key to...? A butterfly swooped across my nose. It was membranous and aquamarine, and I chased it back into the medicine den. It was all over me, landing on the ridge of my cheekbones and the space between my clavicle. It was impossible to catch, darting along the breeze. Death is a strange thing, Chestnut had said. You can cause it, but never reverse it. I stabbed the butterfly down the center, pinning it against the wall. It twitched. Convulsed like it was sobbing. Can butterflies cry? This is something I felt everyone should study and know before they die. Lepidoptera is one of the most beautiful interests of cats. Looking at the sad black insect, I made the decision that they couldn't. Writhing, fragile bugs don't have souls, and therefore cannot shed tears. So was killing a butterfly true murder? Kits smash ants under their paws on a daily basis. Are they murderers? Disgusted with myself, I returned to the clearing of smiling gossips. What was wrong with me? The good she-cat? The innocent, lovesick medicine cat? I dragged a rabbit from the fresh kill pile and took a bite. Maggots crawled out. Category:Fanfiction Category:Cancelled Fanfiction